


Once Bitten, Twice Shy

by itisunreal



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Melinda May is having a bad day, Passive Suicidal Ideation, Post-Season/Series 06, Tumblr Prompt, darker than lightly toasted but not burnt, we're about to get dark up in this bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22248409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisunreal/pseuds/itisunreal
Summary: She learned her lesson, and isn't about to make the same mistake twice.
Relationships: Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 16
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt sent to Philindaprompts on Tumblr.
> 
> Himynameshiddles: AOS season 7.... May not fully trusting LMDCoulson and LMDCoulson doing thing to gain her trust.. I can just see them undercover with 30's vibe and... *lmd Coulson saves her life* + "it's really me in here"

She tries. Tries hard. So damn hard she fears this "smile" might crack her face even though it's clearly unnatural; to keep her arm wrapped around his as they're lead to their table. Tries to seem as in love with the person a half-step in front of her as he seems to be with her. As they should be for this mission. As they were… But it's difficult because she does love that face, has loved it one way or another for years, longer than she's willing to admit sometimes, but it isn't him. She learned her lesson the hard way, but she learned it.

The slightest twitch will end this facade before it begins, send this unenthusiastic smile into the grimace it fights to be. And he seems oblivious to the distress he's willfully causing her as his gaze slips to her, a twinkle there she misses, before continuing to chat up the waiter.

Suppressing a shiver, she wants nothing more than to free her hand, add the space she needs. The distance is—has been…rough, but no more so than the nearness. It's grueling, she won't suffer this nightmare again. Twice is already two time too many, more than enough for one heart.

Then he let's go, and the relief almost pulls her under, stings at her eyes. He pulls a chair out for her, and she stares for a moment, lost in thought and indecision. Not long, but enough time that the waiter looks between them at her hesitance. Then she rearranges, beams as brightly as she can, resuming the role of doting wife. The ache in her chest widens with the act. His brow ticks as she gets closer, like it knows she's pained by this. Like it can see through her, knows the thoughts running through her head. Knows this could have been them. That they could've had this. Could have made time for it if he'd just given them the time.

Throat tight as she sits, she keeps her gaze down as he pushes her seat in, heads around the table to his own. When he sits, she breathes deep, composing herself once again, strain erased from her features as she takes the menu offered, and thanks the man. Then pretends to read the words weaving in front of her as Non-Coulson orders some kind of beverage she won't be drinking.

The waiter gratefully leaves, and she closes the menu, sets it aside, not able to stomach the thought of food in this moment. Or any moment really. Turning her attention to surveilling, it's best to focus on work, to focus on anything but him. Their targets are behind her though, and he pounces while she struggles figuring out a plausible reason to switch sides. Scoops up her hand in his, and every muscle freezes solid at the contact.

She doesn't think her silence has ever begged harder for him to not do this, not force her any further into this charade then she's already buried. But he pushes forward despite her wishes, ignoring the un-voiced boundary.

"This is nice. We should do more thing like this," he says, thumb lovingly brushing along her knuckles.  
It fits the role, but how dare he. Gut twisting miserably, it takes more effort than she'd like to stay in the present, to not yank away, make a scene. To craft a more affectionate expression though it doesn't soften the blow she offers for it. "You're not him."

For a second she thinks his face will crumble, that her inability to believe, acknowledge, that simple statement will derail him at the most inopportune time, but it doesn't. Ever the professional. Instead he feigns, laughs lightly as if what she said is amusing in someway. And she feels no better for the wound she causes every time she reminds it of that fact. Hurting it doesn't bring him back. But fighting the urge to be cruel to something is a losing game at this time.

"I am. I have his memories, his feelings, all the parts that make me, me."

He explains it again like he has a thousand different times, each one sinking the knife in deeper. She understands his viewpoint—all of their viewpoints—she does, but… "I'm not having this discussion again." She's had it endlessly with everyone, even herself. And none if it has made this process easier. Not one conversation makes her believe it more than she already did.

Smile tight, she knows it must look severe, but she can't seem to thaw it any. "Why am I here?" She isn't ready to be in the field, wound barely holding together as is. She isn't ready to even accept she's here, had waken with a ghost hanging over her, had waken at all. "You could have used Carter. Anyone would have worked."

His thumb skims back across. "They know her face. Everyone else is too young, would have drawn too much attention."

"There's someone. It didn't have to be me." He squeezes tighter, and she withholds a shudder.

"I understand this last year's been hard on you, that you probably won't admit it, and that this is—"

"There is no this."

Shaking his head, his eyes never leave hers. "This is no different from your LMD." Another thing he's said a thousand times.

"It's completely different."

"Explain it to me."

"I already have."

"Then do it again."

"I was still out there. You're—" Voice cracking, she looks away again, gathers herself as quickly as she can. The restaurant is still as calm, predictable as one can expect from Hydra, everyone dead to her turmoil. "You're in a box. You aren't him."

He isn't. It isn't. Her Coulson is dead, rotting in the ground where she left him. This is just an imitation. A pale one at that. Hardware and programming. Everything that made him, him - memories, personality - broken down to be played back, give the illusion of life. A machine. All done with the intention to help. Not hinder, not harm, but it hurts all the same. It never stops.

"Melinda—"

"Don't call me that." The name threatens to drown her, the way he says it, the softness, reminiscent of the end. she swallows hard, blinking rapidly.

"May, I…I—"

"Stop. Please, stop." She doesn't want to hear any more, doesn't want to be here pretending. It's the closest she'll come to begging out loud, and he thankfully nods, leaning back in his chair. Hand falling from his, she hides them both in her lap, ignoring to urge to reach for him, make sure he's still there, hand burning where his touch was. She can barely stand to be around him, but when he's gone from her sight, her chest tightens in panic. It hurts when he's there, and hurts when he isn't. There's no winning in this. They both just sit there, losing hand after hand after hand.

Then he shifts, eyes casually drifting around the room. "They're gone," he says simply, as if it isn't a problem.

Shoulders tensing, she keeps herself from looking back. "Where?"

"Not sure."

It'd be easy to blame him. They'd been behind her, there'd be no reason she'd see them go. All he had to do was watch, and instead it'd sat there harassing her for the last forty-odd minutes. But it won't solve anything, and she should have noticed when their waiter never returned. So it's both their faults. They're better trained then this… Or they should be. Had been once.

He's out of his chair, up and turned toward the door, a wide wall of windows. And now that he's not staring at her with that haunting gaze, she can breathe again. The respite is short lived though, the next moment he's lunging at her, sending them both to the floor. Heart in her throat, she barely hears the glass shattering, bullets whizzing above them. It's over before she truly registers it's begun, and in the deafening seconds after, she's still tucked protectively under him. The squealing of tires doesn't even break the paralysis.

They haven't been this close since she woke up, unsettled to be waking, traumatized to see him there. She'd torn her stitches trying to escape. Now, she's pinned, face to face, and if she were forced to pick the differences between the two, she can't. Whether his memory has faded so much in a year or she's glossing over inconsistencies, she's unsure but these are the eyes she's known for more than half her life, it even smells like him. How had they managed that? Or maybe it's all in her head.

She swallows past the forming lump in her throat. "Phil…"

Then he smiles, bright and endearing and real, one that constricts her heart the same way it did the last time she'd seen it. "It's really me in here, Mel."

She almost believes it, welcomes it, stares into blue and falls head first. But…

What's left of the door bursts open, and seamlessly he stands, undisturbed by the close call. A chill creeps up her spine at the lost, eyes following his every move. He relaxes after he's upright, but she knows it isn't a threat.

"Hey, you guys okay?"

Daisy. It's always Daisy.

"We're good."

"What's the point of trying to save these assholes if they're just going to try and blow us up?"

Coulson shrugs. "I mean they didn't try to blow us up…"

"Figure of speech."

"And because if we don't, everything we've done up until this point will have been for nothing."

Daisy's hand smack against her thighs, clearly not up for technicalities today. "Yeah, I know the spiel, Danny Downer, I'm just…"

"Letting off steam."

"Yeah, kinda."

_It's not him. It's not. It isn't. Can't be. He's gone. Gone, gone, gone… In a box. In the ground. This is just a phantom pain she can't shake. A ghost always in her peripheral. She won't fall into the same trap twice. She learned her lesson. She learned it. There's no going back._ Her stomach tightens, breaths short, their voices just a hum in the background.

"You're bleeding."

Then it's sharp focus. Of course she is, she's can smell the iron already. Glancing down, her hand's already pressed against the wound in question. She ripped her stitches again, silken blouse plastered to the growing patch of red. Its burns, pain spiking through her chest as she pushes harder against it.

Her recent run through makes getting back to her feet challenging, more work than she cares for after everything. Non-Coulson comes to the rescue again though, despite many previous warning. He hooks an arm around her waist, takes one of hers over his shoulders, and lifts her up. Stretching out, she hisses at the pull, sting, but keeps her eyes a head. Won't look at him, doesn't want to be this close ever again. Can't be for her own sake.

Feet solid on the ground, she pulls away, hunching in on herself. "I said I wasn't ready."

It's soft, pained, and Daisy wants to say something, but nothing comes to mind—nothing that would help anyway, and May leaves before she has a chance. They should all go before the authorities arrive, but Coulson looks so crestfallen—it's an expression he wears often these days—she pats his shoulder. "She'll come around. Don't worry."

"I don't think so, Daisy, not this time."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seems choppy and i can't get it unchoppy, so enjoy this garbage pile

The ride back in quiet. Or, at least, it starts that way. May’s situated herself in the beat seat, head resting against the window. She pretends at their arrival, acts like they aren’t there or purposefully ignores them. Or maybe she really doesn’t know, there’s no reaction even as Daisy slams the door shut. It’s hard to stay which, though if she is ignoring, it wouldn’t differ much from their normal day-to-day as of late. She hasn’t been much for company since returning.

Coulson slides into the driver’s seat, starts the engine, and smoothly pulls away from the curb just as the first of the sirens wail down the street. At least they are fortunate in some respect. It’d be difficult to explain the magnitude of that wound if they were caught, much less how she was still alive after it.

And while the base isn’t far, but isn’t particularly close either. Which leaves them in a bit of a bind as neither is particularly chatty. Still, Daisy tries to ease the tension in the shrinking space. Small talk isn’t favorite or forte, specifically with these two like this, but anything to make the air breathable again, give them some leg room. But her efforts are mangled as May refuses to partake even as she manages to wrangle a few lackluster replies from a taut Coulson.

Though, in the passing minutes, the conversation dries, trickles to an unnatural end. That and the silence emanating from behind is splitting, her ears ring with it. Throwing an arm over the back, Daisy twists in her seat. The least she can do is monitor the situation for their arrival, hopefully it’s not as bad as the last time it split, but May’s hidden the stain beneath her jacket, away from view. Damn her.

“May?” They could’ve left it at a visual, but with that snap back at the restaurant Daisy knows she’s in no mood for…anything really. And if she hadn’t wanted spoken to than she shouldn’t make Daisy play peek-a-boo with injuries, especially that one. With the trouble it’s already been… She taps the back of her seat, an outlet for the faint stirrings in her gut, none of this feels like it’s leading anywhere good. “May. If you don’t open your eyes or acknowledge my existence, I’m going to annoy you until you do to make sure you’re still conscious.”

Irritating until her composure cracks is about the only way to capture her attention and keep it. It isn’t a pastime Daisy favors, but she’s willing to pester when necessary. And now seems more necessary than most times. A moment passes, then another, the quiet pressing further in the longer she waits, a suffocating weight settling in her chest, heart banging in her ears with the lack of movement. Fear leaks from Coulson beside her. She shouldn’t have let May out of her sight. Especially now, like this. She already should’ve been paying better attention.

Visions flash behind her eyelids: weak words and huffed breaths and an end so tangible, inevitable, she can touch it. _Did you destroy it? T-that thing inside him—_ Pushing back the cascade of memories, things she’d rather forget, she locks them away for another time. She doesn’t need any remainders because they are always there, lurking in the back of her mind. And one day there’ll be a time and place for dealing with them, healing from them, but not now. 

_…Coulson?_

Flares pursue her with each blink, seeping through the wall she’s buried them behind.

“Come on, May.” Barely a second passes, a beat of a racing heart, before her patience gives out, and Daisy’s on her knees, bent over the back of her seat. Hand on May’s shoulder, she shakes, worry tightening her throat.

_…I was hoping to see him again…_

The light movement doesn’t rouse her just causes her hand to slip from her lap, falling limply to the padded seat beneath her. There’s a knot where her stomach should be, dropping like a stone. Wrapping both hands around her jaw, Daisy tilts her head up, into the light.

This can’t be happening again, she won’t let it. She’s not ready to lose anyone else.

_…I guess I’ll see him soon enough…_

Pale lips and ashen cheeks greet her, and the remainder of those dark circles under her eyes are violently out in full view again. “I swear to god, Melinda May, if you died on me again, I’ll—”

The threat’s cut short as they hit something, a pothole hopefully, that bounces the car. Jars Daisy and her hold, and subsequently brings May’s head back to the window in an unpleasant manner. Daisy holds herself taut, cursing inwardly, cause that’s just what May needs, a new injury on top of everything else.

“Ow," she finally grouses, grits through clenched teeth, eyes squeezed a little tighter shut, but Daisy relaxes a fraction. That doesn’t stop her insides from swirling.

“Sorry.”

It’s piped from the side, but she ignores it, scolding instead. “Answer me next time.” Then, before she’s ready or done, and without a word further, May’s cold fingers circle one of her wrists, breaking contact as she goes back to resting against the glass.

_…See him soon enough…_

She shakes the thought from her head, and even if she isn’t ready, May is, so Daisy willingly, reluctantly, removes her other hand, flopping back into her seat. “You scared the shit out of me. I almost had a heart attack.” The muscle’s still thundering at her ribs.

She didn’t expect those memories to hit like that, to fight like that. May had survived after all. Technically, she’d died, and in Daisy’s arms no less, but she hadn’t _died_ died. She’s alive, and there, and fine…ish…

Deep breath, she clears her mind. She can ponder the whys of it trying to retraumatize her later. Gaze shifting to the back window, it’s mostly so she can say she isn’t watching May while still keeping an eye on her. But her attention hones in on a car a few rows back. It peeks around then drifts back into place in oddly timed intervals. That can’t be anything good. Could they just once catch a break.

Not changing position, she side-eyes Coulson. “We’ve got a tail.”

“You sure?” He seems equally thrown, but if they were bold enough to shoot up a building in broad daylight, why not send some goons on a little drive.

The shrug’s out, and drastically more sarcastic than she means, but it’s been a day already, and her ends are wearing thin. “There’s not an octopus on the door, but yeah, pretty sure. Just make some turns, and we’ll find out.”

Pressing on the gas, he accelerates passed the sputtering cars around him, weaving in and out of traffic. With the intersection quickly approaching, he yanks the wheel, cutting the car beside him off as he turns in front of it. A multitude of honks sound out as Daisy rights herself, then reels back as they speed down the street.

“Subtlety is what we’re looking for here,” she criticizes, pushing herself upright again. Peering out the back once more, she huffs, that car whipping around the corner much like they had. “Definitely a tail. And it’s gaining.”

As Coulson takes evasive action, Daisy switches tasks, back to their injured party. But eyes flicking down, May’s gone. Seat empty. Cushion discolored. And Daisy knows she obviously isn’t gone, there’s nowhere to go, but that doesn’t sedate the renewed thrumming in her chest or the flabbergasted stare as she struggles to move past the shock.

Then she’s there again, slid across the bench seat, brows pinched in strain, breaths sharp.

“You okay?”

“Peachy.”

Another sorry drifts over them from the driver’s side. Daisy catches his eyes for a moment as he glances in the rear view mirror. Concern is plain enough to see. And she feels slightly bad it won’t win him any sympathies from May.

His progress continues to be rough and jerky despite the apology. It isn’t his fault though, cars aren’t what they’re going to be.

Daisy can’t help him so turns back to the slightly more urgent situation at hand. Despite her stubbornness, May hasn’t tried to fix herself, and it’s all she can do to keep the building unease at bay. “Hey, can you do me a favor?” Stretching, she takes the slack hand in her own, fingers stilling on her wrist, waiting for a pulse. She can’t concentrate if it continues to hang lifelessly off the seat, and… It pokes at that wall, chipping it further. The steady thump under her fingertips is comforting, brings a warmth she hasn’t felt in a while. “I need you to keep holding my hand, okay? Just hold as tight as you can.”

It’s to soothe, pacify the brewing hysteria, a band-aid for her own sanity or what’s left of it, but at least she’ll be able to focus even while she can’t gauge anything else.

The pressure mounts slowly before becoming bruising all at once then abating. That’s all the response she needs, enough to relieve or at least diminish the stress. She’ll gladly take a crushed hand over the alternative.

“Got a plan?”

“Cloaking. Turn it on, disappear.”

“It isn’t ready, still super glitchy while moving. If we can get far enough ahead, out of sight for a second, we can do it. I think.”

He nods, eyes never leaving the road in front of him. Cranking the wheel, he mutters, “The turning radius on this is shit.” The tires squeal against the road top, the car jolting again as they knock the curb coming to a stop.

May’s grip constricts, not as breaking as last time, but there’s little Daisy can do than squeeze back.

“None of this matters if we don’t make it back in one piece.”

Slamming the pedal down, he races down the street as their friends come into view again. “Working on it.”

He follows the road, turning, and cutting off others as he sees fit. Until he’s found a mostly deserted street, and smashes the brakes.

Daisy braces, a foot on the dash, to keep from flying forward, instead flings herself half over the seat to keep May in her seat. The Hydra thugs continue rushing toward them before lurching to the side, around them. Daisy’s head whips around to watch, the other car’s back end drifting as they swing around.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving us time.” 

Starting again, he accelerates through the next corner, not going far before pulling into an empty parking lot. Engaging cloaking, he cut the engine, dousing the noise, and leans back.

“What do we do now?”

“We wait.”

* * *

  
She doesn’t need to, but she sinks further beneath the window. Cloaking is running at 100, the engine is off, there’s no way they have any idea where they’re at, but they are so close. A step or two, and they’ll be pressed against an invisible barrier. And if that isn’t a dead giveaway, what is.

She keeps them linked throughout, arm slung over the back, grip tight even if the return is less than what she wants.

Eventually, the grumbling grows distant, and she peeks above the door, watching Hydra trail off at a loss. 

“I can’t believe that worked.” She smiles for what feels like the first time in a long time.

“Me either.”

May’s sweaty grasp, or maybe it’s her hand that’s clammy, loosens, and Daisy’s eyes widen. Red's bled through May's jacket while she wasn't. Her grin falls away in an instant. “We gotta go.”

Coulson’s face scrunches, but he doesn’t look, keeps his eyes forward as he turns the key and shifts into drive. Hands tightening over the wheel, knuckles whitening, his posture is rigid as he holds himself to May’s wishes when all he wants to do is comfort, resume the role he once lovingly occupied.


	3. Chapter 3

“Somebody is not gonna be happy about cleaning this,” Daisy says opening the door, the stain clearly visible from the window, around May’s still sagging body. It’s a lot. More than any of them would like, but she has to make light of it. Needs to. Find the sun in the constant dark or be lost in it because it just keeps getting darker, and they are hanging on by a thread, rudderless in the water.

Coulson comes up behind her, she feels him there before he steps into her periphery. The look they share holds volumes as May insists on sitting herself up, forcing her way out of the backseat. The journey is an undertaking, one that leaves her slumped, breath quick and hard. Daisy shoots him another look as he steps forward. They don’t have a lot of time, but they can’t force her into this any more than they have if they want to keep her. He stops, thankfully, but the sadness around his eyes hurts.

She’s not even looking, or even really paying attention to them, when she barks out a rough, “Don’t.” Like she senses incoming help, the thought of it, and, like the mule she is, refuses any assistance. Daisy adheres to the demand, pulling them both back a step, even as the coppery smell churns in her gut, hands itching to aid however she can. Is allowed. Which isn’t at all.

When she’s wrestled her way to the door, placed her feet flat on the ground, Coulson can’t seem to take it anymore. Like watching her struggle, suffer, when he can prevent it physically pains him. He steps forward again, around his once protege, with all the caring he’s ever offered her a hair’s breath away, just out of reach. But a single withering look stops him cold, sends him back. And Daisy replaces him without any protest, keeps her hands to herself, but ready if need be.

Setting her jaw, concentration hardening her features, May places her hands on either side of her lap, and goes to push herself up. The stretch of her injury is enough to make her woozy, sight spotty, arms faltering under the stress. A strained “No,” leaves her with just the shuffle of feet, at the hint of help.

It’s weaker than before, softer than she’s been in weeks. But Daisy steps back again, mindful of her wishes for now. But ever watchful as May braces her hands on each side of the opening and hauls herself up through sheer force of will alone. ‘Cause she shouldn’t be standing at all. Or conscious probably. What a commitment to bullheadedness. And what blood hasn’t soaked in to the surrounding fabric, that gathered in the bunch of her skirt, trickles down.

So much blood. Too much…

Standing is an ordeal all its own, and even with an anchor, May reaches out, clutches hold of Daisy to steady as the world tilts and turns. Hands find her in return. She feels them, maybe; knows they’re there, at least, but she hasn’t recovered from her previous blood loss, all the blood loss, and adding in today’s just compounds that fact as she trembles, heart hammering in overdrive.

Head falling forward, her eyes close while she attempts regulate, find measured breaths, but they require a part of her focus she can’t split from wobbling knees, on the brink of collapse. And then against that steel will, she wilts into Daisy. Disappears for a second, blacks out, but feels arms tighten around her when she’s back.

“Whoa, hey, are you okay?” It’s a dumb question, but there's not much else to ask, and she's going to lie anyway.

Somehow, May straightens herself out, bears some of her weight, and grounds out a rusty, “Fine.”

Looking down, a shock of panic lashes through Daisy again, but she gulps it down, will hold it in until there’s an appropriate place to release. But May’s hand rests over the wound, but there’s no pressure, and the front of her is drenches, so thoroughly saturated blood drips continuously from the hem of her skirt creating a small puddle on the hanger floor. How can there be any left? “Are you sure he can’t help? We’ll get to Simmons a whole lot faster if he does.” And getting to Simmons is all she wants. 

Sparks still haunt her; images of May pale and bloodless and already gone even though she was still there, fighting, talking, nearly overwhelm her again.

Emotions closer to the surface than she wants, May shuts her eyes to Daisy’s pleading expression, and shakes her head. “No.” Her chin trembles, she thinks, is trembling, but it’s hard to tell when her attention is solely on staying upright.

And Daisy relents. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, we’ll walk.” Releasing her for a second, Daisy slips out of her own jacket, and bundles it. And for getting what she wants, May’s reluctant to be helped, refusing to move. Forcing her to remove the bloodied hand, Daisy places the rolled cloth, than resituates her with an order, “Hold that.” Though she doesn’t seem all there to receive it.

So it’s a little surprising when her fingers dig in, adding enough pressure to whiten already colorless skin. But with it held, Daisy position herself under May’s other arm, and eases them away from the support of the car. The grip on her shoulder strengthens as she places her hand over May’s and presses down. The gasp that follows, winds into a whimper, rattles Daisy more than the rest of it.

The first step is weak, uneven and she’s not sure they’ll even make it out of the hanger before May gives in, body failing. But while there’s no power added, they balance out, steadily chug along. Turning her attention, she locates Coulson several feet away…several, several feet away. “Find a wheelchair or something, she’s not making it all that way.” Not to state the obvious. No one even knows they need help yet. “And find Jemma.”

He nods, gaze lingering for only a moment, but Daisy wishes there was a way to help with that grief, but one thing at a time.

* * *

They manage the hall before she wavers, stops, panting. “I-need a minute.”

“’Kay.” She nods, searching. The wait is maddening, she just has to keep her going, can’t let them stall any longer than necessary. They have to find Simmons.

Find Simmons.

Find Simmons!

It repeats over and over. And the longer they stand there, the more Daisy realizes the building tremors is both of them, that she’s holding most of May’s weight, if not all of it. Pulling them to the side, she settles them down as gentle as possible. It sends her heart to her throat though. Can’t sit. Can’t wait. No time. 

_Find Simmons!_

“Let me get Coulson or…or anybody, we need to get you to medical.” Daisy looks down the hall again, hoping to see anyone passing through, but it’s empty.

May disregards the plea, rests her head against the wall, eye closed, slipping off into the dark. And it is quiet finally, thoughts settling into a humming whisper. Peaceful. When she’s roughly jerked back.

Squinting, she blinks, clearing the fuzzy edges as best possible. Daisy’s right in front, crouched over her, hands cupping her face for the second time that day.

“Eyes stay open. Understand?” There’s a slow blink, a subtle nod, and Daisy chooses to focus on the bright side of things: that she’s still coherent, voluntarily taking orders, instead of the cool, clammy skin under her hands, glassy eyes, rapid breaths…the speeding pulse beneath her fingers…

“Let me go.”

Brows pinch as she frowns, the request startling, swinging in from the left. A well aimed gut punch. “I’m sorry, what?”

“When this is…over, let me go.”

“Go where? Out of the base, this decade? ‘Cause if it’s the decade thing, I’m with you, wasn’t planning on staying.” She tries to keep it airy, feign ignorance. If she doesn’t give voice to the intended meaning then it’s not real, and she can go on believing that.

May only blinks again, long and slow, and Daisy knows exactly what she means. Can’t pretend it isn’t what it is.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I’m done.”

She knows this resurrection has been arduous, in more ways than one. And she could be gentle about it, but being gentle had only landed her here “That’s too damn bad because you are here, and you aren’t going anywhere.” Her bravado slips though, falling through the cracks as May continues to stare with hooded eyes and pained breaths, sinking further into the wall.

Daisy runs a thumb along her cheekbone, vision growing hazy. “You can’t ask me to do this.”

“I’m ready.”

It’s a puff of breath, not really a statement at all, and Daisy looks down the hall again. Where the fuck was Coulson? Where the fuck was anybody? She would pick now to bring this up, when Daisy can’t flee the conversation before them, the implications. It’d be a lie to say she hadn’t seen this, something, coming, but the last few days have been building to something she wanted no part of. She’s just hoped May’d snap out of it, but here they are.

“That’s not a good enough answer. You’re just…you’re saying this because nothing ended the way you thought it would. And you—you’ve been holding everything in, avoiding it, and now the only thing left to do is process, finally grieve, but you don’t have to, not really. I know you miss him, but he’s still here. Right in front of you, you just have to see him.”

“That’s not him.” Each words is punctuated with a breath, nostrils flaring, and Daisy warms at the life sign. The renewed fight despite what she's asking.

“He is. Why won’t you accept him?”

“Isn’t him. Not pretending for you.” She winces as she tries to readjust. All she manages is to rock herself lightly.

“It’s him in all the ways that matter.”

“LMD—”

Daisy stops her, knowing this exact conversation, has had it before. They’ve all had this same conversation with her, with each other. But if fighting will keep her alert, she’ll poke and press, turn them away from this nauseating request, and hope when it’s over May doesn’t remember any of it happened. “This isn’t the same. You where out there somewhere, there was always the chance of getting you back. You think Coulson wouldn’t have flipped that LMD back on if we hadn’t found you? Just so he could keep a piece of you with him?”

She shakes her head, blinking her eyes back open, and squints again. It’s harder to focus, movements hampered, body weighted. This little chat stunted and staccato-ed as it filters in, only pieces actually catching. “Daisy…”

“But that Coulson isn’t coming back, May, and this— This is him. He remembers everything up to Tahiti. He also knows you left together, what it meant and means. And I know you’re angry he died, and was back, and you hoped so hard. I did too. Then that thing with his face—” Daisy stops, face crumpling for a moment before she smooths and changes direction. Guess it’s less fight, and more vent, but she’s listening, so that works too. “Look, you have every right to be pissed, but not at him, he hasn’t done anything to you. He didn’t decide to leave—”

“He. Chose.”

The edge of it is serrated, near cutting, and she stares for a long while, letting it settle in the air. Daisy understands what she means, she’d purposefully broken that vial to save him, chose him over all the world, and then he’d picked Daisy, the fate of humanity over her. Maybe she just hadn't seen how deep that devastation ran. Still… “How many people get their loved ones back, May? Come on, this is an opportunity you are just passing by.”

“Don’t care.”

“That’s fine, if you want to be miserable that’s on you. Just realize you could be so much happier if you just embrace that that is him. Maybe not that way you want him, but it is him. Accept it or don’t, just stop punishing him. He didn’t ask for this.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

It’s forced like she’s focusing wholly on working the words out a pinched throat. And Daisy shakes her head, defiance in the posture of her shoulders, the set of her jaw. “No. If you want me to make that choice, than I’ll make it. And I’m choosing you. To save you whether you want it or not.”

May blinks again, much longer than the last time, and when she reopens something warm and wet runs along Daisy’s hand. And now it’s her turn to stare, fear tightening her chest as glossy eyes peer back. She’s not sure there’s anything in them though, then they close with seemingly no intent to reappear. And maybe that’s a tremor she sent through the floor or she’s shaking… “May?” She wipes at the lone trail, hoping the sensation will help resuscitate her. “May?!”

Then she’s being pushed out of the way, Simmons in front of her as others collect May’s outwardly lifeless body.

“What happened?”

“I-I— We…” Shaking out her hands, she stops, takes a collecting breath, and brings herself back to center. Losing it won’t help anybody. “They knew we were there. Coulson tackled her out of the way when they shot the place up. It ripped— There’s blood everywhere.”

Jemma smiles to reassure. But it’s tight, stretched too thin, as she places a comforting hand on Daisy’s arm. “It’s gonna be all right. Promise.”

Then she’s gone, all of them are, and Daisy’s left alone in this again empty hallway, unable to follow, and unable to leave. The stain left behind mocking.

* * *

“I’m sorry. For earlier. By the way.” She slides a seat out, slumping into it, has to get this out of the way.

“You were just scared.”

“Doesn’t mean I get to take it out on you. That’s what I’m trying to stop May from doing. It wasn’t your fault, and I shouldn’t have acted like it was.”

“It was a little my fault. I was distracted.”

She smiles, but it dips into a grimace, a gloom settling over them.

“What’s with the frown?” He watches her pick at her nails, dodge his gaze.

There’s a moment in the growing silence when she stills, completely motionless as she stares at the wall behind him, considering what she’ll actually say. What information to give freely, what to withhold. But anything she relays will hurt him one way or another, there’s no stopping it or easing what damage it’ll bring. “She basically said when this is over, she’d like to go back.” She can leave off the part about meaning today, at that moment. She can save him from that bit.

“Back where?” Brows crinkling, he leans further into the table, interested in where this is headed. If only he knew.

It’s only a halfhearted gesture she can muster, a slight raise of her shoulder, but she still won’t look, doesn’t want to see the effect it has when it’s finally free. She can only hold up so many people at one time, and right now, it’s only herself. “Oh, you know, back when she died. Was dead.”

It’s a beat, a minute, an hour, a lifetime, that passes before she can—will brave it. He isn’t any different, like he’s unbothered, feathers unruffled by the admission.

“She doesn’t mean it, Daisy. She won’t leave you.”

 _Like I did_ remains unsaid, but hangs heavy in the air, and she let’s it. She’s happy he’s back, ecstatic, but that doesn’t lessen the ache of it, of what he did, how he lied. How there was hope for a happy ending, and none.

Tucking her hair back, she looks him in the eyes. “How do you know?”

“I’ve known— Well, I haven’t known her that long, but I feel like I have. If anything he knew her, and I know him—”

Her face softens. “You are him. She’ll see that before the end.”

“Then I know she’ll heal.”

“I hope so.”

“Sometimes it just takes her a while to see past the grief. Give her time.”

“Yeah, well, time’s never really been our thing.”

He nods in agreement. “It hasn’t, but we make do.”

“Sometimes.”

“She’ll survive, Daisy. It’ll be all right.”

“I know, but I think we should set up a watch for her. Maybe we should make a schedule.”

“She’s gonna hate that.”

He smiles at her, but Daisy just shrugs again, brows pressing together. “Well, I hate what she asked of me. Guess we can both be pissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure how i ended up here, but i did


	4. Chapter 4

Waking is…exhausting.

Everything is exhausting lately. Existing a chore. More than she’ll admit to anyone. All of it pointless when they continue to run in circles. Because even when they free themselves from one maze it’s right into another.

She just needs to rest, a day unbothered, but no one will leave her be.

The first thing she notices when consciousness has a firm grasp on her, is the ringing in her ears, but behind that, the quiet. An intense kind of silence even she has trouble appreciating. It leaves things—rooms, her—too open, too empty, unprotected…vulnerable.

She’s not in medical though, that much is obvious. Simmons has shipped her off somewhere she’d be kept comfortable and in place, but reachable in case.

Lids plastered to parched eyes, her mouth is full of cotton with just a hint of a coppery aftertaste coating her tongue. Lovely. But the rest of her is lead, heavy and hindered. And so entirely like the last time she wonders if she didn’t die again.

A minute passes, maybe more—time is relative in the darkness—before she’s requisitions the strength needed to pry her eyes open. There’s not much difference given the amount of haze; the first few blinks worsening the blur then it clears some until everything is in sharp contrast.

The ceiling is a dull orange, the little ridges in the plaster throwing strange shadows. Laying there, she can almost make out faces in the shapes. 

She turns her head, and it’s painful, muscles inflexible from disuse and abuse. But what’s around her is her room. Not exactly the place she was expecting given the trouble she caused last time, but welcome nonetheless. 

The lamp on the far side releasing a dim light, other than that, she’s alone. Which is unprecedented, and slightly baffling. The last time she'd been surrounded, and he was there. And she was there. And he—and she… It doesn't bear remembering.

Without real thought her feet are on the floor, an arm protectively guarding her middle. Stitches always itching. But beyond that, mind and body are disjointed, numb, parts moving of their accord, each overlooking the input of the other.

Then she's up, standing a doozy, but the doorknob's in hand, and she’s looking for…something. What for sure, she doesn’t know, just something that’s not here.

Opening the door, she startles an agent right outside. He jumps, unexpecting, and leaps to his feet, paper falling to the floor.

“Ma’am.”

She grimaces, but doesn’t correct, not worth it in the grand scheme of things. “Who are you?” He's young. New probably. Brand new judging by that overreaction.

“Smith, ma’am. I’ve been assigned to, uh, watch you.”

Watch, watch, watch… Why would she need watching. If Simmons felt comfortable enough freeing her to her room, then she’s plenty out of the woods, and not in need of handling.

Whatever look passes over her, he clears his throat, stutters once then starts again. “Observation mostly. Step in for anything detrimental.”

Detrimental. It rolls over in her mind, almost sparks, catches on a wisp and lights the darkness. Detrimental. Most of before is murky, but if she’s being tended to like a child than— Oh, she didn’t, she… And she understands perfectly.

“Where’s Daisy?” she asks, but doesn’t stay for the answer. Instead, fueled by adrenaline and the modification of secret broodings let loose for all to know, she seeks. An activity Simmons would frown on, but if she has to wait, it'll eat her until it is something detrimental.

And despite the apprehension, she starts the search calm-ish. Daisy wouldn’t repeat anything she heard, what was said or not said. If she can just convince her she didn't mean any of it, that she… But the longer it takes to find her, anyone from the team, the more doubt and dread fill her. Nothing she may have uttered while bleeding out warranted twenty-four hour supervision. 

She bursts through nearly the last door on this route—as much as one can burst after being devoid of blood twice in as many months—interrupting. Not that she gives a damn as she continues on even after seeing what she’s done, pointing to the now closed door behind her. “What the hell is this? I don’t need a babysitter, Daisy.” 

Smith is through the door in the following seconds, an anxious frown in place.

She looks up, they all do. And her hopes for privacy burn to ash with that single disillusioned look. The mirrored one behind her not mattering half as much in the moment.

Daisy seamlessly switches what she’d been doing to the inevitable argument to come. She hits first. “May, you basically said you wanted to die.”

Everyone knows. Everyone… May tenses further, muscles already shaking from overexertion, reeling. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, you meant you wanted me to choose in the moment whether you lived or died. And you hoped I'd let you go."

She shakes her head, protesting further. "That isn't fair, I was-"

"Dying. I know. And that wasn't fair of you to ask, and if you think this isn't fair either, then I guess we're even."

“Just leave it.” If she could—if Daisy would…if all of them would just forget, pretend none of this had happened. She hadn’t meant for any of it to come to light. This burden was only meant for her. For her to carry until she could strong-arm her way past it.

Daisy shrugs in a defiant kind of way that usually both irritates and amuses her, but that is not the case today. They're are too many eyes on her, too many privy to her innermost thoughts, the weariness, despair they bear. Anguish. 

“No. You’re hurt. And angry, I get it. I do. I've said it a thousand times. But you’re also my family, and I’m not losing anyone else. We aren’t.” She keeps her eyes locked on, not a moment of broken contact, but May can see subtle nods from the rest of them, their team…him. “I don’t think you’d hurt yourself, but I’m not sure you wouldn’t let yourself be hurt. So if we have to set a schedule to make sure you’re safe, then that’s what we’re doing for as long as we need to do it. We’ve already agreed.”

The room is stale—too many bodies, eyes watching—blanketed and closing in. Before her tumultuous thoughts can show any further, she bows out without a word further. She can't fight against their decision now, like this, spread too thin, walls rotting from within. Leaving is the only thing she can do.

Heading back to her room, her new shadow follows, not obviously close, but still too close for her liking, comfort. She’s already suffocating.

It'd be easy to slip him, how many of them could possible know the base like she did? But if she scared Daisy bad enough that she’s been tagged with a nanny, then maybe she should leave it alone for now. Let her have this if it makes her feel even the slightest bit better after that confession she never need to know.

And she could say that they were the twisted ramblings of an addled mind, say she hadn’t thought such things because…in the dark of night, after waking up, when everything became too much to stomach. When everything seems like it’d be easier if she hadn’t survived. Because there’s this hollowness that aches under her skin, an empty space in her chest. She hadn’t planned for that to be her last fight, but when it resembled it, she didn’t terribly mind. Then she was back, ripped from the depths against her will, and it feels like there’s something missing. And part of her was tired—is tired, was done fighting and losing just to fight and lose again.

But here she is. A new circle. New maze. Out of the frying pan, and into the fire. Always burned.

* * *

They all make the rounds, letting her know when they arrive and leave and who’s coming next, and she passively—actively—ignores them. But they all take their turns, interspersed with agents she doesn’t know, and doesn’t care to. Plus Smith who is just as jumpy around her as he was the first day.

But mostly it’s him. A ghost, vision haunting her every move. But he doesn’t have to sleep, and knows she’s evading that same labor. And maybe it’s just a punishment, retribution for the things she let slip.

Often he sits, with his back to her door, and rattling on and on about anything, everything: memories from the academy, from the start of their team, favorite historical moments, any passing thought in his head. Then he apologizes. For things he did, things he could control and couldn’t, things he could’ve changed, done different, done better. But didn’t. For thing he waited too long to do.

And even if this is penance he has the good sense to be gone for the hours she wanders the empty base, lost, drowning in equally debilitating images, reminders. He’s there somewhere, she knows, won’t disappoint Daisy if he has the ability not to. And leaving her alone would disappoint. But out of sight, out of mind. Not all of them give her that kind of privacy.

Sometimes though, she just sits with back also pressed to the door, and listens. He’s easier to digest this way, when she can believe it’s just a recording where he goes on forever, something he made knowing she’d miss the incessant noise that was him, and not a decoy wearing his face, invading his memories. It’s soothing sometimes, almost lulls her to sleep in that uncomfortable spot, this uncomfortable state. But sometimes it hurts just the same and more, and she can’t stop the overflow of tears as he talks.

She wipes harshly at her eyes, angry that he leaves and comes back, and leaves and comes back, never allowing her to heal from the grief. She may dislike the thing behind her, but damn she misses him. Misses holding his hand, waking up beside him, that stupid way he looked at her… Misses things she never thought she would, impromptu history lessons, corny lines and dumb jokes, and that stupid way he looked at her.

“I wish I could remember it.”

She hesitates to engage when he manages to break through the reverie, she always does, but her mouth responds before she can stop it. “Remember what?”

“Tahiti. You.”

There’s a smile in his tone, but it doesn’t carry. Those memories can’t—aren’t happy yet. Don’t contain an ounce of respite. Aren’t cherished things she wants to harbor. And in this limbo, none of them are worth the hurt they ferry. “No, you don’t. You don’t…want to remember dying like that. I don’t want to remember watching it.”

It’s the only part she recalls clearly from the island. Every memory tarnished by heartache, leading to an end they both knew was coming, and he embraced when slipping that serum to Daisy. The world was such a small price to pay for him. She’d relive that loop a thousand more times if it meant they found a way to save both. And she understands that they were outmatched, outmaneuvered, out-powered, that he couldn’t let Daisy face down that catastrophe without some sort of insurance, but…

“Not that part, but the rest of it, with you on the beach. Sun, sand, and…you. That was the dream, a life with you. Best days of my life, I’m sure.”

She sucks in a sharp breath at the admission. For all his love of talking, he never said it so directly, never mentioned beyond the island because there was nothing beyond that. And her chin trembles listening to him now. “I miss you.”

Her voice cracks, and the sadness there is crushing. He doesn’t know if he has the same emotional capacity as he once did, but something in his chest clenched at the sound. “I’m here when you’re ready.”


End file.
